The Earth Was Full of Heaven Today

So often life seems bereft, barren of  joy, overflowing

with bleak news,

but while pulling the first pink stalks of rhubarb for muffins,

I was startled by a  rustling inside. Suddenly a duck flew out.

She had waited as long as she could before abandoning her nest.

Kneeling, I parted the oversized leaves.

Nestled there with such care in a mound of soft feathers

were a dozen pale green eggs.

Later, I stripped and washed the sheets,

carried the heavy load outside, pinned them to the clothesline.

So much intimacy aired. Softness and lightness danced

with the spirited wind.

Lunch was a fried egg from my neighbor’s chicken

served with spicy arugula and baby spinach leaves

whose folds still held a bit of the grit,

on toasted sourdough bread from the oven

alongside strawberries from my patch

drizzled with the honey from a friend's hive.

The redbud tree was bursting with its prayer beads;

pea-like rosy clusters willing the heart-shaped leaves to emerge.

All of the day seemed to unfold this way with a groaning

as if caressing what was underneath,

making me forget for a bit what was broken in the world.

I savored every crumb.